The Mystery of Sundays Well

by Anne Crosse

“You sound surprised, did you expect me to be wearing my white shop coat? No, let me rephrase that, my off-white shop coat,” Lilly said, with a grin.

  “So, what can I get you?” James asked.

  “Cocktail of the day, or should I say cocktail of the night?” Lilly replied.

  James made his way to the counter.

  “I see you are with my sister,” the barman said.

  James looked back to where Lilly was sitting. “Lilly is your sister? She never said.”

  James felt slightly uncomfortable. Did she think she needed a chaperone, was that the reason she suggested this pub?

  “So, what’s it to be, then?”

  “Cocktail for Lilly, and Coke for me.”

  “We don’t do drugs here.”

  James laughed, even though he didn’t think the joke was in the slightest bit funny.

  “I’m Gerry Larby, by the way.”

  “And I’m James Sayder.”

  “I have to be truthful, I know who you are,” Gerry said. “You are one of the detectives investigating the bodies in the well.”

  “Famous in my own lunchtime,” James smiled.

  “Ah, that’s an old one,” Gerry said.

  “I am not one bit funny,” James admitted. “But you are good. Ever think of pursuing a career in the comedy business?”

  “I’ve enough careers on the go without adding another one.” Gerry set the two drinks down on the counter.

  “So, what’s that cocktail called?” James asked.

  “It’s called a slippery nipple, and you’d better not get any ideas from it,” Gerry said.

  James put a ten euro note on the counter and hoped it would be enough to cover the two drinks. He knew these cocktails cost a fortune.

  “The look on your face,” Gerry howled with laughter.

  Lilly tapped James on the arm. “Is he winding you up? I thought I’d better come and rescue you,” she said.

  “He is just educating me in the art of cocktails,” James said.

  “The latest thing is a double port and a WKD,” Gerry said.

  “Isn’t that something to do with cricket?” James asked.

  “It’s actually a blue drink, and it’s pronounced wicked.” Lilly pushed James playfully.

  James picked up the two drinks and told Gerry to keep the change, if there was any.

  “He is such a pain, my darling brother,” Lilly said when they seated themselves back at the table in the corner.

  “He’s alright,” James replied.

  “My grandfather, the one and only Mr George Larby, owns this pub and a carpet business, and the corner shop. But I told you that already, did I not? Or maybe I didn’t, but you know it now.” Lilly smiled.

  “Does your brother work in the carpet business as well?” James asked.

  “Laying carpets by day and laying drinks down on the counter by night. That’s our Gerry for you,” Lilly said.

  James managed to make his fizzy drink last all evening, because he knew from past experience that he would be having to get up to go to the bathroom all night if he overindulged.

  “Have you got no homes to go to?” Gerry bellowed at the end of the night.

  “We needn’t go,” Lilly said, and winked.

  As soon as the bar was cleared, not that there were many other punters, Gerry joined Lilly and James.

  “I am so tired this minute,” Gerry said, and yawned.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Lilly said. “I feel hard done by with the long hours I do in the shop, but at least that’s all I have to do.”

  “So, how is the investigation going?” Gerry asked.

  “You know he can’t answer that,” Lilly said.

  “Only making small talk,” Gerry added.

  “Couldn’t you talk about something else?” Lilly snapped.

  “I think we should call it a night, let your brother get on with his clearing up,” James suggested.

  “I like you, James,” Gerry said.

  “You certainly have your hands full, Gerry. Could we help you to get the place sorted out?” James asked.

  “What’s with the ‘we’?” Lilly said, and laughed.

  “Tomorrow morning, I have to fit three carpets. They’ve all gone mad getting new carpets. It’s like carpet season,” Gerry said.

  “It must be back-breaking. I could never do it,” James said.

  “You have to take up the old carpet and, you know, some of them are almost glued to the floor, so there’s all that scraping to be done.”

  “Nothing is easy, is it,” James said.

  “If you could fit a carpet on top of an old carpet, that would be grand alright,” Gerry said.

  James laughed at the idea of it.

  “I did that very thing, believe it or not,” Gerry said.

  “Are you saying you fitted a carpet on top of an old carpet?” James asked.

  “Exactly. I did it for Miss Kneeshaw, as it happens.”

  “And she gave him a big tip, didn’t she, Gerry?” Lilly said.

  “There was some carpet left over and she asked me to fit it up Mrs Dillon’s stairs. Poor Mrs Dillon’s stair carpet was threadbare, so there was no point in removing it. You could say it acted as an underlay. Miss Kneeshaw’s carpet wasn’t that bad, but she insisted I lay her new one down on top of it.”

  “That’s interesting,” James said.

  “It wasn’t cheap either, Axminster it was.”

  “A lady with good taste,” James said.

  “Rotten with money she is, and I didn’t really deserve the whole of the tip,” Gerry said, and smiled.

  “Would you get many tips?” James asked.

  “God, no. Plenty of complaints though, you’d get, but as for tips, no. They’re like rare birds.”

  “Don’t go on about the dead Brown Booby that was found in Cork last year,” Lilly said, warning her brother.

  “Are you a birdwatcher?” James asked.

  “I used to dabble a bit in the bird breeding game, but I had to knock that on the head with all the work I have to do, I just didn’t have the time no more.”

  “So, tell me about the complaints you get in the carpet business,” James said.

  “Let me see. The number one peeve is, are you sure that’s the one I picked out? It looked different in the showroom. Then there’s the big old insinuation that the carpet is thinner than the one they have chosen, and the suggestion that we are running some kind of scam,” Gerry said with a scowl.

  “I suppose a discount would be asked for,” James asked.

  “Usually, yes, but my grandfather is the one who deals with it, and no more is said,” Gerry said, and laughed.

  “Tough, is he?” James asked.

  “He don’t put up with shit,” Gerry replied.

  “You said you didn’t deserve the whole of the tip Miss Kneeshaw gave you. Why was that?” James asked, prompting.

  “The new carpet was already down on top of the old one when I arrived, all I had to do was fit it in place.”

  “Grandad started the job, but he couldn’t finish it on account of his back. He suffers with pain when the weather is damp. Arthritis: Ireland’s pain,” Lilly explained.

  “Are you sure we can’t help you clear up here?” James asked.

  “Not at all, I’ll be grand,” Gerry said, smiling.

  “Lilly, we’d better make ourselves scarce. We should let your brother get on with it, else he will be here all night,” James said.

  “Straight home now, no detours,” Gerry said, and laughed.

  “I’ll follow the map,” James said.

  “Do you have an atlas in your pocket?” Gerry laughed.

  “Night, Gerry,” Lilly said.

  James waved goodbye. “It was nice meeting you, Gerry,” he said.

  “Same here,” Gerry replied.

  CHAPTER 18

  Robert placed his nightcap on the bedside locker and eased himself in between the sheets. His old shoulder injury, which he had
acquired when he was working on a farm in France, suddenly reared its ugly head, and much to his annoyance it was giving him gyp all day long.

  According to an article in a health magazine someone had left behind in the lounge downstairs, a change in the weather could bring on pains and aches. He’d only picked the bloody thing up and leafed through it to kill time while waiting for James to make an appearance. Normally, he wouldn’t be a fan of health magazines, all mumbo-jumbo as far as he was concerned, with their new-fangled ideas which were in fact old ideas dressed up with new names, like mindfulness, and all that kind of bullshit. However, the information about the reason for pain at certain times of the year did strike a chord with him.

  There had been an early morning frost for the past few days, and the coat he’d brought with him wasn’t exactly warm enough for these kinds of elements. He didn’t think there’d be frost this early in the year, but weather nowadays was so unpredictable. All down to climate change, according to the experts, which in his opinion was another load of old tosh, but what was he doing working himself up into a tizzy when he should be staying calm and enjoying a bit of peace and quiet in private.

  He took a grateful sip of his beloved brandy and laid his head down on the pillow. The bed, he had to admit, was extremely comfortable. The receptionist had informed him that all the beds in the hotel had been replaced a few months ago. Some business grant from the government was apparently the reason for the big revamp. The sheets and duvet covers were Egyptian cotton, she said. He hadn’t a clue what Egyptian cotton was, nor did he want to know, but the linen did feel really cool and comfortable.

  The knocking on the door interrupted his train of thought.

  Probably James; he cursed the fellow under his breath. Does he ever go off duty, he wondered as he threw on his dressing gown and made towards the door.

  “Is this John Hanton’s room?”

  She was quite a striking woman, Robert couldn’t help thinking as he laid eyes on the tall, willowy lady standing outside in the corridor.

  “If this is John Hanton’s room, I’m going to be done for trespassing,” Robert said, and laughed.

  “111, that’s the number he gave me.”

  Robert pointed to the number on the door. “That’s what it says, but I’m afraid you must have been given the wrong number.”

  “I should go down to reception and check, but I’d rather not. She’s such a nosey witch, I would prefer not to draw attention to myself.”

  Robert took the hint. “Would you like me to ring reception and ask what his number is. It would be no bother at all,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Come in, no point in you standing out there drawing attention to yourself.” Robert couldn’t help getting the dig in. She wasn’t very charitable this one, with her name calling.

  Robert pressed the R button on the phone.

  “Can you tell me what room John Hanton is booked into?” he asked.

  He was told that was confidential information, and therefore it could not be divulged under any circumstances.

  “I am a detective and, for your information, it is vital that I am told his number, if you don’t mind,” Robert said.

  Apologies were made. She was standing in for the usual receptionist who was off tonight and she hadn’t realized who he was when he buzzed down. The room number was immediately disclosed.

  Robert put down the phone.

  “I should have introduced myself. I’m Robert Carroll and, yes, I told the receptionist the truth, I am a detective.”

  “You are here because of the bodies in the well.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m Hanne McGrath.”

  Robert held his hand out. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Hanne ignored his gesture.

  “The number you want is 101,” Robert said.

  “I do hope you are not going to tell people that I came here to meet John Hanton,” Hanne said.

  “I don’t do gossiping,” Robert replied.

  “Sure.”

  “What you do is your own business.”

  Hanne turned to go.

  “Is there anything at all that you might be able to tell me about the murders, a favour for a favour,” Robert asked.

  Hanne turned around with a quizzical look on her perfectly made-up face.

  “I don’t mean you had anything to do with the situation, but sometimes people know things that can be useful, if you see what I mean, and that can be very helpful to us,” Robert explained.

  “My daughter Marie hated them, maybe you should ask her.”

  “I have already, as it happens, met your daughter, and I don’t think she would be capable of killing them,” Robert admitted, then continued, “Not in her condition, poor girl. She told me she got polio in Belgium.”

  “Blame me for picking up the disease, did she? The spiteful little cow,” Hanne said.

  “No, she didn’t put any blame on you at all,” Robert said.

  “She is not the sweet innocent little girl you think she is. She was always making up things about those boys. She has a twisted mind, she’s a liar, always was.”

  “You don’t believe she was being bullied?”

  “If anyone’s a bully, she is. She hated them so much, I am sure she had something to do with their deaths.”

  “I am afraid I just don’t believe that.”

  “She got someone to do her dirty work for her, she’s good at that.”

  “Like who?” Robert asked.

  “She has her father wrapped around her little finger. He’d do anything for her,” Hanne said vindictively. “He’d kill for her.”

  “You are not suggesting…”

  “You’re the detective, you find out.”

  Hanne made for the door.

  “Goodnight; nice to have met you,” Robert called after her.

  As she banged the door behind her with venom, Robert regretted having been so accommodating to her. What a lousy excuse for a human being, he thought. It was clear she hated her daughter, and her husband too. She was the female version of Judas, hanging her daughter and husband out to dry.

  What a performance she gave. She must have thought he was a complete idiot. She was the one who was doing wrong. It was obvious she was having an affair with John Hanton. For the love of God and all that’s holy, what on earth did she see in the geeky boss-eyed freak?

  What does anyone see in anyone? Robert mused as he returned to his bed. He removed his dressing gown and threw it on the chair.

  Then he took a grateful gulp from his glass and instantly felt better.

  This was his medicine, but he would have to take it easy, he told himself as he eased his body into bed.

  He lay back on the pillow willing himself not to let thoughts flood his head, but he knew he would fail miserably, so he would have to refill and refill until sleep eventually came.

  CHAPTER 19

  James looked on from a short distance away as Marie McGrath peered into the well. It wasn’t as if she was going to see anything, but she did so want to come out here for reasons of her own. He didn’t have the heart to refuse her when she asked if he would help her.

  “So this is where they ended up,” Marie said.

  “Do you know the history of this place?” James asked.

  “It’s called Sundays Well. The clue is in the word Sunday.”

  “Sunday would be a day for mass. So, does that mean a priest would perform the sacrament out here in the olden days, was that it?” James asked.

  “That’s right, but there’s another story which I am more inclined to believe. The townsfolk used to come out here on a Sunday and throw coins into the well. Sunday being the day of rest, so to speak. You would need to find something to do, I suppose, seeing everything in town would be closed down for the day.”

  “They could have had picnics out here. I say out here, but it’s only on the verge of town – a ten-minute walk,” James said.

  “The town
would have been much smaller in those days, so this would have been further away then,” Marie replied.

  “Yes, I’d imagine this place was the highlight of the week in its time,” James said, and laughed as he walked over to the well and stood beside Marie.

  “I wonder if they will continue with the plan to make this place a tourist attraction,” Marie said.

  “Now that it has acquired a reputation, it will be all the more attractive in a ghoulish sort of way,” James replied.

  “Some bright spark will see a way to make money, and will probably come up with the idea for murder mystery weekends,” Marie suggested.

  “Are you glad the Dillons are gone?” James asked, changing the subject.

  “They gave me such a hard time, they were just pure bullies, always going on about my iron leg.”

  “Ignorance is bliss, they say,” James said.

  “I was so embarrassed when I met you first, ashamed of what you might think of my affliction,” Marie said.

  “There’s more to a person than their physical appearance. I just see you, Marie, and you are a very intelligent young woman. It’s a pity those bullies were so cruel to you, but they are gone now so you need to worry no longer.”

  “I didn’t wish them dead though, much as I hated them, I didn’t wish that on them,” Marie said.

  “No, you’d be too kind-hearted for that.”

  “I see the blue and white tape has been pulled away,” Marie said.

  “I’d say a few sightseers were responsible for that.”

  “They love the macabre, don’t they, as you quite rightly said. Ghouls and goblins, murder and mayhem is all the rage.”

  “There is a market for it alright, and I think the murder mystery weekends are definitely on the cards.”

  “Who killed them?” Marie asked.

  “That’s what we have to find out.”

  “You must have some idea,” Marie said.

  “Would you have a suspect in mind yourself, Marie?” he asked.

  “Me? Sure, what would I know?”

  James spread his hand across the top of the well.

  “Were they thrown in? Did they drown? There would be water down there in the bottom of the well, wouldn’t there?” Marie said.

  “You know I can’t tell you that,” James said apologetically.